


Comeuppance

by varenoea2



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-30 07:13:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3927667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/varenoea2/pseuds/varenoea2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>2-D would do anything, really anything to get out of the basement of Plastic Beach. And Murdoc gets awfully lonely, all alone on his heap of plastic rubble. </p>
<p>And if you think you know how this will pan out, you're wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comeuppance

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own the characters or the location where the story takes place. All of these belong to Jamie Hewlett and Damon Albarn. This is a piece of fan fiction, written solely for fun, and no financial profit is being made.

„Oi, faceache! You can come up!“ Murdoc shouts down the stairs.

There is some shuffling down there, and a maudlin voice: “What day is it?”

“How would I know? It’s not like we get newspapers every day except Sunday. Doesn’t matter, does it?” Murdoc is in a brilliant mood. He’s picked up an old song again, one he’s been trying to finish for two or three years – and now he suddenly had the right idea, and the whole thing has come together. He’s so inspired right now, he even wants 2-D around. Who knows what their chemistry might come up with!

2-D peers around the corner of the spiral staircase; checks Murdoc’s expression; sniffs out the atmosphere; decides the situation should be safe, and walks past Murdoc with a careful sidelong glance.

“You look happy”, he says. It’s obvious he still doesn’t trust the peace.

“I’ve cooked up something I’ve got to show you”, Murdoc says.

2-D pricks up his ears. “Something to eat?”

“Don’t you get enough food?”

“Well, I do, but it’s not the same thing as eating upstairs. Everything tastes of whale down there.”

“How do you know what whale tastes like? Anyway, no. It’s a new song. And it kicks _ass_.” They start to march through the corridor that leads up to the brighter areas of the house.

“Oh, good!” 2-D brightens up. “But I’m still hungry. Can we get a bite first?”

“Fine.” That should keep him motivated. If he doesn’t get his way now, he’s going to keep complaining all the way through the jam session, in that meek, passive-aggressive high-pitched whine he sometimes uses to drill through Murdoc’s resolve.

So they go to the kitchen. 2-D blinks into the brilliant sunlight and sighs happily. Then he buries himself in the fridge. “Eggs! We’ve got eggs. I’ll just fix myself some scrambled eggs, alright?”

Murdoc lights a cigarette and leans patiently against the kitchen counter.

“Do you want some, too?” 2-D asks.

“Nah.”

For a moment, it’s quiet. 2-D scrambles his eggs, Murdoc smokes his cigarette and looks out of the window. A brilliant, sunny day. All is right with the world.

“I was wondering, Muds”, 2-D says and slides his eggs out of the pan and onto a plate, “if you’re having a creative streak.”

Murdoc is quick on the uptake. “You’re not coming out of the basement permanently, mate. Forget it.”

2-D sighs and starts to spoon up his eggs. Murdoc feels a gentle yearning for beer. There were a few bottles on the kitchen counter… oh, there they are. Lovely.

“But I could be useful”, 2-D wheedles in the background.

Murdoc pops open a bottle on the handle of a drawer. “You’re not, and you’ve never been useful. For anything that wasn’t music, you’re not.”

“You don’t even know.”

Murdoc leans on the counter and looks out at the waves. “Useful, you! Hah.” He takes a swig.

„Oh yeah, I can be useful! I’ll show you.”

“You’re more useless than a one-legged horse in a…” And then his voice trails off. 2-D is suddenly very, very close behind him, his arms slide under Murdoc’s, towards his crotch.

“You wha’?!” At first, he doesn’t even process what is happening here. If he didn’t know better, he would think the little shite is going for his cock. But that can’t be. No way. And while Murdoc is trying to figure it out, 2-D has already started to knead his package through the fabric. And it feels good. Well, it always feels good, no matter who it’s coming from, that’s the trouble.

It’s pretty clear that 2-D is trying to buy his freedom with sexual favours. And that’s not right. That’s more than fucked-up. But it’s so, so empowering, and that’s very sexy. And while Murdoc is trying to find the resolve to push 2-D away, the bugger whispers into Murdoc’s ear: “See, I can be useful. Don’t make me stop, I don’t wanna stop. It’s been so lonely down there.”

Well, if he’s been lonely, then why not? Right? That should make it okay, then.

“I’ve found some new tricks, too. I’ll show you, if you like.”

“Okay”, rasps Murdoc. His voice is still out of reach. He looks down on those nice, long, quick piano fingers. And they’re already unbuttoning his jeans. One of them slides down his pants. Bloody hell, that little twink is really going to do it! There’s a surge of power rising in Murdoc’s chest. This is a dream come true, a porn flick plot come true, even if he will only get a hand job! This is sick, and perverted, and absolutely amazing.

And 2-D is good at this. Not a single sudden movement. His hands slide over Murdoc’s hips, slide over his cock, slide his pants down his legs. And when they grab, they grab just firmly enough, but not too hard. Maybe, thinks Murdoc, he should give this boy a chance to come upstairs, just occasionally. Why not? Would be a pity to waste this talent…

“I’m almost sorry for all the times I called you a wanker”, he says. “As far as wankers go, you’re pretty good.”

D chuckles, and then one of these wonderful hands slides away and comes back with a little bottle of cod liver oil. “That’s gonna make it even better.”

For just another moment there, Murdoc feels another pang of guilt. This isn’t right… but it’s so good, and now it’s getting even nicer. Slick and oily and even warmer. How can you think about what’s right when someone’s doing _this_ with your cock? And tickling your balls just like _that_? Murdoc growl under his breath, and 2-D hums along in response.

And when you think about it, it’s not gay at all. Sex with a pair of hands… girls have hands, boys have hands… does it really make a difference? And 2-D is right, a man can get very, very lonely on this island…

Murdoc keeps growling approvingly, and 2-D keeps pressing his chest into Murdoc’s back. Hell, he never knew that it could be so… comfortable with a guy! So nice and easy. Maybe he should give them a try more often…

And then there’s a push, and a burn, and a sudden, horrible feeling of _stretching_. It takes almost a whole second for Murdoc to snap out of his power trip, but when he registers what’s going on, his eyes fly open wide. He’s about to shout, pounce, kill – but only a gurgle comes out of his mouth, and his muscles do nothing. So he stands there paralyzed, and thinks about the following:

  1.        What the HELL does he think he’s doing?!
  2.        I’ll kill him. I’LL KILL HIM!!
  3.        Why did he have to ruin this beautiful handjob?
  4.        How do I like this, by the way?



The thing is, Murdoc likes a little pain. His tattoos are among his fondest memories. He also likes to get things up his arse – “things” being one finger, or two at most. He likes to ask girls to do it. But this is not a finger by any means. Is this horrible? Or not so bad? Or even good? And how can you think about this when those hands are on your cock? And the two seconds Murdoc needs to get through this are enough. 2-D’s hip bones press into his butt, and he’s suddenly horribly, wonderfully _full_.

Argh.

_He can never know that he popped my cherry. He’ll never let me live this down as it is!_

And he finds his voice again. He turns around as far as he can, and snarls like a wounded animal: “Listen, scumbag, I never said you could do that!”

2-D freezes. He knows exactly that this was foul play. The guilt is written all over his face, and he knows he’s tottering along the verge of permanent damage. Only a little gasp comes out of his mouth.

“But while you’re at it”, growls Murdoc, “you better do it well. And don’t you _dare_ pull out!” Because when you’ve come this far, there’s no point calling it off, right? And now he wants the full experience. Just to know what it’s like.

“Oh God”, whimpers 2-D, “you’re gonna let me cum inside?”

Murdoc doesn’t answer. He leans forward just a bit, and steadies himself against the kitchen counter, trying to calm down and relax. All the parts are well-greased, but it still stings. He groans with every push and pull. But stop? No. It’s not bad at all. Just a little change of angle here… and a twist in that direction… much better. _Much_ better.

2-D’s hands are still at it. Oh, those hands. Heaven in the front, hell in the back – perfect. And 2-D keeps gasping sweet nothings into Murdoc’s ear. They don’t matter. He’s not listening. This is getting even better with every push that slams his pelvis against the kitchen counter. The pain is only adding to it. Who knew?

He can feel 2-D’s cock stiffen and thicken, and 2-D’s hands grab his hips and slam deep into him once more, and stay there, and convulse and shiver and groan, and _squirt his fucking seed deep into Murdoc’s belly_ …

Cumming inside… _inside_ …

This is what sends him over the edge. To be used, filled, soiled, have it dripping out of his hole… He almost doubles over when the orgasm hits him like a wave, groaning “fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck”, and thanking his Dark Lord for the cock that’s still inside him, and that’s feeling so delicious inside his convulsing muscles…

And then it’s over.

2-D pulls out with a gentle sigh, and the residues of his work follow gravity. Murdoc can feel it. It gives him an itch behind the ears. He shivers. Creampie. A fucking creampie. He’ll never live this down.

He turns around to 2-D, and there’s that stupid mask on the guy’s head. Somehow, he can handle that he got fucked, but _fucked by a guy with a bloody clown mask_ _on his head_ , that’s too much.

“Right, tosser. You have time to run until I’ve got my pants back on.”

“But Muds, you liked it, didn’t you? Why do you wanna beat me up now?”

Closed season is over. Murdoc grabs 2-D and twists his arm behind his back, and under cascades of verbal abuse they stumble back to the basement door.

“Get in there!”

“Figured, if you’re locking me up anyway, I should give you a reason to lock me up”, 2-D says suddenly, and then he chuckles.

And it’s worked beautifully, hasn’t it? says a mean little voice in Murdoc’s head. A complex idea, executed with skill and charm. Captain of Plastic Beach, eh? A sucker is what you are.

Murdoc throws 2-D forward through the door. There’s a yelp, and then a sound like a potato sack falling down the stairs. That’s some satisfaction, at least.

“Don’t you dare showing your face up here again!!” he shouts after 2-D, and slams the door.

But while he bolts it, a triumphant voice comes from inside: “YOU… LIKED… IT!!”

Murdoc has his immediate future figured out precisely: he’s going to get roaring drunk. Once he’s tight as an owl, he won’t have to think about this anymore. Yep, that should do it.

And he’s sore as a Tijuana donkey. Ow… ow… ow… every step of the way. Maybe get horizontal before he gets drunk. Well, now he can really say he’s tried it all, so that’s something to be proud of. But not… not when you get bested by that babyfaced… fuckheaded, halfwitted… cuntmonkey!

If he ever wants to drink this day out of his memory, he’ll need a distillery installed on Plastic Beach.


End file.
